Forty-seven days after I report to sick call,
I lay in that infirmary in Nam.
My thick smear show malaria they say
when I wake up after so many days
not knowing where I was.
Pills, ice baths or ice packs in 
my arm pits, my groin to get the fever down.
Better than a bullet in the brain they say,
or a POW camp. OK I say but first
go to the commissary and buy me a beer.